I hadn’t seen Nancy in five years — not face-to-face, anyway. Like most old friends, we had kept up with each other through birthday texts, late-night memes, and the occasional Zoom call when life felt particularly heavy or lonely. We used to be inseparable.
College roommates. The type who could finish each other’s noodles, steal each other’s hoodies, and laugh about it afterward. But life shifted.
She moved to another state for work, and I settled into my life with my husband, Spencer, and our six-year-old daughter, Olive. Somewhere along the way, our closeness slipped into the background — not gone, just… paused. So when Nancy messaged me saying she’d be in town for a training seminar and wanted to meet up, I felt that warm, familiar flutter of nostalgia.
I immediately suggested a Saturday outing. Our kids could finally meet, and Nancy and I could have the long-overdue catch-up we both needed. Nancy agreed right away.
Olive buzzed with excitement about going to our local amusement park. I watched her skip ahead of me, her curls bouncing joyfully. Moments later, Nancy arrived, slightly breathless but glowing in that effortless way she always had.
She held her son Connor’s hand, guiding him through the turnstile. He was five, with big brown eyes and a shy dimple that only appeared when something genuinely delighted him. Olive reached for his hand instantly.
They didn’t speak — just looked at each other with the kind of instant connection only children seem to manage, as if they were continuing a friendship that had started long before today. It struck me in a quiet, unexpected way how easily children trust, bond, and just exist together. We spent the day jumping from ride to ride, taking silly pictures, and indulging in overpriced snacks that somehow tasted better simply because we were laughing and relaxed.
“I’m so glad we did this, Brielle,” Nancy sighed happily at one point. “I’ve been wanting to get the kids together for so long!”
We fell back into our old rhythm as if no time had passed — swapping inside jokes, recalling our disastrous college adventures, and groaning about ex-boyfriends we should’ve ghosted before the first date ended. It all felt safe.
Familiar. Comforting. After the park, we dropped by one of my favorite cafés — a cozy spot with exposed brick, soft lighting, and a dessert menu that could make any adult giddy.
The story doesn’t end here — it continues on the next page.
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